


Misdirection

by Erasmus_Jones



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-06
Updated: 2014-01-06
Packaged: 2018-01-07 18:31:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1123004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Erasmus_Jones/pseuds/Erasmus_Jones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hello, this one was written for the Winterlock exchange over on Tumblr. My partner Lokisexual requested something Johnlock and that was all the instructions there were, so I was flying a bit blind. Because of that I kept it slightly under my normal smut level as I figured it was probably the best bet. Thank you to ShinySherlock and WiggleofJudas for hosting! </p><p>So it's Christmas at 221b and Sherlock is determined to find out where his present is. John's having none of it.</p><p>Hope you like it Lokisexual!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Misdirection

As soon as John walked through the door to 221b he knew he was in trouble. Sherlock was sprawled across his chair as though he’d been dropped from a great height and John immediately knew it had been a mistake to leave him on his own. With a slow and determined swivel of his head, Sherlock pinned him with the stare that John knew meant trouble was coming and if the past was anything to go by, it was coming soon. Diverting quickly, John turned into the kitchen determined to at least get the shopping away before he was subjected to Sherlock’s histrionics. Any time he left the flat alone, Sherlock would inspect him head to toe in order to work out where he’d been. John always told Sherlock where he was going, but it was touch and go as to whether he was actually listening to him when he did.

 

Surprisingly John managed to get through putting away the food that needed to go in the fridge before he heard the familiar rustle that indicated Sherlock was on his way. John waited patiently head still in the fridge, trying to avoid looking too much at the severed head that occupied the bottom shelf, at least it was on the bottom shelf this time. There’s nothing quite like watching putrefying liquid dripping from one of your dinner plates down on to a packet of bacon you were hoping to eat for breakfast. He was a doctor and he followed Sherlock to some situations that really did numb you to the effects of most things that would have the average person retching in the gutter, but even he hadn’t been able to face the sight of a bacon sandwich for a good two weeks after that.

 

John felt cold hands sneak up the back of his jumper and circle around his waist, Sherlock’s hands leaving goose-bumps in their wake. Whether it was the coolness of his skin or something else? Well that was always a difficult question for John to answer. When he felt Sherlock’s nose touch the back of his neck he allowed his head to drop sideways to rest oh his shoulder to free up more space for Sherlock to nuzzle closer. He could feel the hot breath of his exhalations tickling the hair at his nape and then the deep indrawn breath.

 

“Stop sniffing me, Sherlock. I know what you’re doing.”

 

He did stop, but only when he decided he was done. Stooping he rested his chin on John’s shoulder so that his lips were near John’s ear.

 

“I know where you’ve been, you smell like disinfectant and hospitals.”

 

“I am a doctor, Sherlock.”

 

“Yes, I know. But you didn’t smell like it when you left and as far as I know the supermarket is not that conscious about cleanliness. You had no reason to go the hospital so why do you smell like you do?”

 

“Alright you bloodhound, enough.”

 

“Where did you hide it, John? I’ll find it, you know I will.”

 

“You can try, but I’ve learnt a few things from you, Mr Holmes.”

 

Sherlock plastered himself to John’s back, limbs seemingly growing in number as he wrapped himself around his doctor. Arms pulling John tight against him, the perfect kind of tight that let you know exactly how much you were wanted and valued. John savoured the momentary cessation of questions and let himself just enjoy the embrace. He needn’t have worried about the silence lasting too long though, Sherlock was too impatient and too focussed for that.

 

“Where have you hidden it? Does Molly have it? No… You’ve got crumbs on your jumper, you went to see Mrs Hudson before you came upstairs! She’s got it hasn’t she? Silly John, you know she can’t say no to me. I just have to ask and she’ll give it to me.”

 

Shuffling them both backwards a bit John shut the fridge, only to be immediately spun around and pressed back into the door by a very insistent Sherlock Holmes who took no time to crowd in close. Leaning forwards he pressed his mouth to John’s, flicking his tongue slowly over John’s sealed lips, teasing with small nibbles of his teeth at his bottom lip until John opened to Sherlock’s request, joining in whole heartedly with the passionate kiss. When John managed to respond his voice was understandably breathless.

 

“Still not telling you. You can’t bribe me with the kisses I get anyway, you know?”

 

Sherlock’s response to that was to wrinkle his nose and pout at him and John nearly gave in there and then. He steeled himself, he hadn’t gone through all this just to give in now.

 

“You taste like beer! How long were you gone, John?”

 

“Do you pay any attention to me?”

 

“Yes, but why were you with Lestrade?”

 

“He called, we went for a pint. End of story.”

 

“What did he want? No it doesn’t matter, misdirection John! Why did I teach you?”

 

“Because you’re wonderful, that’s why. I’ve told you, a couple more days.”

 

John could see Sherlock trying to put all the pieces together, he only hoped he’d managed to give enough false clues to keep Sherlock off the trail a little longer. He was scowling, brows drawn low over expressive eyes that darted left and right as he tried to work out where John was hiding what he sought. With a roll of his eyes, John kissed Sherlock’s cheek quickly before ducking under his arm with a chuckle. John left him still leaning on the fridge as though John was still between he and it, continuing to mutter away to himself under his breath.

 

John knew it wouldn’t be long until Sherlock was back to trying to get him to give him the information he was trying so hard to keep to himself. Once he got passed the intrigue of new clues, it was only time until whiney Sherlock would be back with a vengeance. It didn’t leave much time to do the jobs he had to get done before his attention would have to be back with his needy other half. John didn’t recall the process of gift giving ever being this complicated before. Then again, nothing had been this complicated before Sherlock had entered his life. It hadn’t been nearly as fulfilling either, so John figured the things he had to put up with were more than made up for by the man himself.

 

Sherlock stalked passed him moments later only to throw himself onto the sofa, fingers tucked beneath his chin so he could think. John waited in the kitchen for a moment, seeing just how long he was going to get to do the domestic things that always needed doing. The things that would never be done by Sherlock in a million years. He didn’t mind though, not really, it was a small price to pay for the rest of the good that came packaged with Sherlock. Actually he was best not thinking about the small things that wound him up to the point where he spent most of his day talking to himself under his breath.

 

John knew Sherlock would like him to think that he hadn’t moved from his spot since he’d flopped onto the sofa. However, as John was the one that tidied the flat he was quite aware of where things had been. Not so subtly each time he was out of the room there was a telltale rustling and when he returned, though Sherlock was still in place it was impossible not to see that piles of papers had been moved and boxes were out of place, left sticking out from under the desk causing a trip hazard. If anyone had said that John was deliberately trying to drive Sherlock crazy, he’d have denied it, but if he walked through the living room a little more often than he needed to? Well that was his business really. Keeping his face straight at the sound of scuttling feet was however impossible.

 

Eventually John took pity on Sherlock and placed a cup of tea on the coffee table by his side, then sank his fingers into the dark curls that just called out for handfuls to be grasped and tugged on.

 

“It’s two more days, you can do it.”

 

“But, Jooohn.”

 

“No, it was no before and it’s no now. You’re birthday present will be a surprise if it kills me. At this rate it bloody well might, you’d tempt a saint.”

 

“You’re not a saint, John.”

 

“And don’t I damn well know it.”

 

Releasing his grip on Sherlock’s hair with one last stroke of his fingers, John moved across the room and put his own cup of tea on his side table. Picking up the newspaper he settled into his seat with a sigh and shook out the pages to read. He lowered it slightly to look in Sherlock’s direction, when he didn’t move, John thought for one brief moment that he might get some peace and let himself zone out to read what passed for news in the red top.

 

He didn’t hear Sherlock roll off the sofa on to his hands and knees. Nor did he hear him as he crawled on all fours across the sitting room. The first thing he knew of the change, was when a pair of hands appeared beneath his paper and settled on his knees before starting to travel up his thighs. Dropping his chin to his chest, John gave up trying to read and moved the paper out of the way, letting hang over the side of the chair and drop to the floor.

 

Sherlock knelt between his feet looking like sin itself, tousled hair and hunger in his eyes. Eyes that held the devil himself with all the promises they offered. 

 

“Distract me, John.”

 

Never mind him distracting Sherlock, John’s mind had ground to a halt. He could barely think with him in the position he was in now, never had been able to and doubted he ever would. He simply stole any and all rational thought John was capable of when he decided he wanted his attention.

 

“I’ve been distracting you by traipsing all over town so I can keep your present a secret.”

 

Sherlock rested his cheek against John’s leg, but he didn’t break eye contact for a moment. His fingers kneaded at the muscles of John’s thigh of their own volition making John’s breath hitch and his eyelids flutter. 

 

“I don’t like it.”

 

Reaching out John cupped Sherlock’s cheek and stroked his thumb across his stunning cheekbone. Whenever he was subjected to Sherlock’s pleading stare he felt his resolve melting; looking at him as he was, that didn’t seem like it was going to change any time soon. Jerking his head and opening his arms, John gave Sherlock the OK to continue. Without hesitation and seeming almost boneless he scaled John, burying his head briefly against John’s jumper clad stomach on the way up. He hesitated there long enough to have a shiver running up John’s spine and a stifled groan escaping his lips. Eventually, with a bit of shuffling he settled with his knees on either side of John’s hips and moved in close until they were nose to nose and his hands rested on John’s chest to steady himself. 

“Distract me, John.”

There was only so much the good doctor could handle and Sherlock in his lap? Well that was more than anyone could take. Tilting forwards to cover the slight distance that separated their lips John spoke, his voice pitched low and a husky. Sherlock tried to cross the last centimetre that separated them, his breath ghosting across John’s lips but he backed off for a moment. 

“This had best not just be a bargaining chip you know.”

Sherlock shot him a stern look and crinkled his nose in irritation. His voice was stern and final when he addressed John, no room being left for any doubt at his words.

“John. You are a far more important to me than any gift.”

“Smooth bastard. You going to behave about your present now?”

“You’ll have to make sure I’m suitably occupied.”

Giving in, John flicked his tongue out and ran it over Sherlock’s lips, a teasing promise. 

“I think I can manage that. Come on you. We’ve got a bed waiting that’s got more room than this chair and we definitely need more room. Last time my back hurt for days.” 

With a smack to Sherlock’s arse that set him in motion they both stood from the chair and at a single raise of Sherlock’s eyebrow they took off at a run towards the bedroom, laughing the whole way.


End file.
